


Everything is real, but it's also just as fake

by Siren_whispers



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Even Bech Næsheim and Isak Valtersen Meet Differently, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, F/M, M/M, Magic, Veela (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-01-15 11:24:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18497965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siren_whispers/pseuds/Siren_whispers
Summary: After the war the wizarding world changed.  After a group of transfer students arrived at hogwarts Even's life changed.  He doesn't want it to change back and he doesn't want that to be the veela magic talking..Veela Isak!.Title is from AJJ's People II: The Reckoning





	1. Chapter 1

Right from the start, it was clear to Even his sixth year at Hogwarts wasn't going to be what the previous five had been.  Sure, the word “mundane” wasn't applicable to any of those years but the more the new school year progressed, the more likely it seemed he would forget such a concept could exist.

All was as expected for the journey: he piled into a compartment on the train with his friends, watched through the windows every time there was a lull in the conversation, and ate sweets like he hadn't eaten in days.  There were a few hushed rumours that passed through the train carriages but those were always there, passing from student to student like a contagious disease, so he didn't think much of them. He let them pass in one ear and then immediately out of the other.

 

He probably should have listened.

 

He was sitting at the Ravenclaw table, Sonja having tucked herself in close beside him.  He was pretty sure she was talking, her lips were moving, but he couldn't hear her. His senses extended far beyond her, reaching across the rest of the hall where familiar chatter mingled with itself until there were no words, only noise - a familiar chorus that wasn't the least bit musical but still made Even want to dance.

   As usual, the first years, small and nervous, entered soon after, following Hagrid’s hulking form.  Headmistress McGonagall smiled at them politely as she stood and pulled out a scroll to read names from.

 

She made her way through the list in decent time, ending with a “Zabini, Jake” who was welcomed to Slytherin with a cheer.  Yet there was more to be said before the usual speech could begin, formally telling them a new year had begun.

“And now,” McGonagall always had a sort of careful composure to her, a strictness, but there was a glint somewhere inside of her that made it feel more safe than scary.  She could talk for hours and there would still be something about her that would make him listen even is she hadn't anything important to say “For the first year ever, we would like to welcome some fifth year students from the Norwegian Wizarding Academy!”

Even knew about as much about the school as anyone else - his parents were Norwegian but also muggles so they were hardly a source of information - that it had been opened after the war, when Durmstrang was called into question with its dark art-focused curriculum, controversial past headmasters, and outright refusal to admit muggleborns.  Before the European ministry had been able to make a decision on what to do with the school, it had been razed to the ground, the historic building burned with magic flames that were too powerful for any one wizard to extinguish. Even could picture it, enchanted flames that always seemed to flicker with specks of every colour, some he could name and some he could not, as they climbed and climbed and climbed and consumed only what they were willed to consume.  He imagined watching from close by, feeling nothing but a gentle pulsing warmth from the destructive flames as they licked up at the Durmstrang turrets and climbed into the sky, like they were trying to become one with the sun.

 

They hadn't caught the culprits (it was unclear if they had really even looked), nor had they rebuilt the school.  Instead, countries all over Europe had made their own smaller schools, but the staff was stretched thin and it was clear that some of the smaller ones didn't have the resources they would need to properly educate their older students.

   He supposed that would explain the fairly small cluster of Norwegian teenagers who were walking past the tables, towards their headmistress.  Some looked confident, some looked queasy, some looked indifferent. They all wore the same generic uniform as the first years did before their sorting, save for a small, embroidered emblem that clearly pertained to their school.

 

McGonagall read their names how she read the first years’: alphabetical order in regard to surname, and they all moved to the stool like the first years had and allowed themselves to be sorted.  Even was ready to make a comment on how ridiculous the fifteen-year-olds looked perched in the tiny stool meant for children years younger than them, but the words got lodged in his throat.

   The initially rather small crowd of Norwegians was thinning and had, in doing so, revealed a boy who had previously been hidden by his peers.  He was fairly tall but Even knew himself to be taller, and he had his eyes trained on the floor as his nimble fingers laced together, a clear outward sign of anxiety.  Even could understand that; from the second he could be seen every eye of every student had affixed itself to him and it seemed he didn't particularly appreciate it.

   Still, Even could understand the infatuation and was trying really hard (he probably needed to try a bit harder) not to join the crowd of ogling onlookers.  The boy was a balanced mix of soft and sharp, of angles and curves, and he was _golden._ His hair wasn't blonde - to call it so would be to do it a severe injustice - it was gold, aureate like the precious metal had been melted down and formed into fine strands then affixed atop his head.  It reflected the flickering light of the floating candles and Even wanted so badly just to touch it. His skin was a lighter shade of gold, almost entirely white but still there was a hint of colour, his eyes a darker one, and Even would sooner believe he was a statue than a boy.

 

“Bloody hell,” a voice said next to Even.  He wasn't sure, too transfixed on the glorious stranger, but he would guess it was Muta “Is that boy-” he seemed to be doubting himself “is he a veela?”

Even’s knowledge of Veelas was rudimentary at best but he was sure he knew something that would be contrary to that theory.

“I thought Veelas were all women?”

“Me too,”

Even looked back as the name Isak Valtersen was called and the boy walked up to the stool.  There was no wind in the great hall but still his hair seemed to fan out behind him, a picture of elegance Even didn't even have the presence of mind to hope Sonja didn't see him gawking at.

 

The hat sat still for so long it wouldn't be a surprise to discover it, too, had been entranced.  Still, eventually, it opened its slit and begun to speak before snapping its ‘mouth’ shut and reconsidering.  The longer he sat there the more the boy seemed to squirm, until, at last it called out.

“Slytherin!” it declared and the table of green and silver burst into a frantic, almost manic, wave of fast-paced applause.  It was almost certain no other student, save maybe the Boy Who Lived himself, had ever been welcomed.to any house with such raucous enthusiasm before.

   View partially blocked by a crowd of students, Even managed to turn his attention away from the boy he would claim, even on veritaserum, was glowing.  He turned his eyes to his friends even though they felt heavy and pinpricks felt to be racing across his skin. If that boy wasn't a magical creature, he was using a charm so powerful no teenager should be able to cast it.

“He's a veela,” Muta said, this time seeming sure of it.

“I thought Veelas were all women?” Sonja said and a general hum of agreement rippled through their group before a warm laugh cut through the confusion.

“Sorry, sorry,” the boy spoke, accent clear but words easy to understand “I'm Elias Bakkoush and I'm assuming you're talking about Isak?”  the question was definitely rhetorical but the whole group of them nodded before introducing themselves.

“Nice to meet you all,” Elias smiled, bright and broad and familiar in a way that didn't make sense but was wonderful to see “Isak's, like, my little sister's best friend - objectively it makes no sense but it seems to work,” a collective glance was cast to the pretty girl with the black hijab and the dark makeup who was laughing at Isak's side.  Even struggled to remove his gaze again.

“He's definitely got a lot of veela blood in him, we all agree he's probably half,”

“Has he not told you?” Yousef cocked an eyebrow.

“He didn't know what a veela was before he came to school,” Elias laughed.

“How-?” Even began but stopped, deciding it really didn't matter.  Maybe it was his magic-clouded brain that decided that.

“A male half veela?” Sonja asked, face pulled tight into the pout it assumed when she was trying to study a concept she didn't understand.  “Hasn't there never been a male who was more than an eighth veela?”

“Isak’s the only one I know of,” Elias told her and, like that, it seemed their group had gained a new member.

 

It was a blustery Sunday morning but Even and his friends had decided to spend it walking through the grounds in spite of the bitter chill in the air.  Even had his head tilted down so he could tuck his chin into the collar of the coat he was wearing over the muggle clothes he would always wear whenever robes weren't deemed mandatory, so he was relying on his friends to lead him to wherever it was they were going.  Suddenly, Elias called in a voice that had taken only moments to become familiar.

“Little sis!” It was clear from his tone that it was a sort of teasing nickname.

 

Even looked up.

 

“I'm ten minutes younger than you,” the voice that responded was clear and even.

Elias’ sister was standing in front if him, makeup free and wearing muggle clothes that seemed to be easy to move in.  She had a football stopped under her foot and was looking at Elias with her dark eyes. Isak was standing beside her, most of his hair pulled beneath a beanie, wearing a hoodie, joggers and gloves that meant most of his glowing skin was hidden beneath warm, dark fabric.

“Hei, Elias,” Isak smiled and suddenly the cold didn't matter to Even because he could feel a warm blush creep up his neck.  He swallowed.

“Who are your friends?” Isak asked and Even could tell the foreign witch and wizards were talking in English for their benefit.  Elias introduced them all and, after each name, the appropriate person would exchange hellos with Isak and Elias’ sister, Sana.

   For some reason, Eliaa decided introducing Even last was a brilliant idea and his brain was so clouded and fuzzy from the little lopsided smile and minute eyebrow raise that Isak had given his Norwegian surname that he seemed to lose the power of rational thought.

“Halla,” he said with an awkward wave and Isak's brilliant eyes seemed to gleam as he returned the greeting in kind.

“What's up, Even?” Isak asked in Norwegian, as if testing the waters, and Even had to try to find the part of his brain that told him how to talk so that he could reboot it.  Unfortunately, even though he had figured out how to speak he opened his mouth before he had thought of an appropriate response.

   The words just kind of spilled and he could kick himself because what he had said certainly was not an appropriate response to the question he had been asked.

“Wowyou'repretty,” the words jumbled themselves together but not quite enough to lose their meaning.  Even supposed he should just be glad most of his friends couldn't speak Norwegian.

Elias, Sana, and Isak all laughed and Even couldn't help but feel the humiliation was worth it because the mellifluous sound of Isak's laugh was priceless.  Even was very happy he couldn't see how red his own face was, and was sure it grew even more so when he saw the pretty pink blooming on Isak's cheeks.

“You guys wanna play?” Elias asked, gesturing to the football that was still under Sana's trainer, inviting himself to the game.

The response was an even mix of “sure” and “I don't know how to play,” but the Norwegians took that in stride.

“We're just warming up at the minute,” Isak told them “We can't really play decently with two people so we need you,”

“We'll tell you the rules as we warm up,” Sana said before rolling the ball out from under her foot and trying to dribble it past Isak who tackled it from her with a fast movement Even didn't quite manage to perceive.  He dribbled it past Sana and Elias before passing it to Even who dribbled it before passing it to Sonja. He wanted to feel guilty when he saw her face, so familiar and easy and comfortable, cheeks flushed and big eyes laughing, but he just couldn't.  He saw Sonja and knew that staying with her would be settling. He saw Sonja and knew that the lack of _anything_ he felt - the lack of butterflies, guilt, warmth, absolutely anything at all - meant he didn't love her.

 

Oh how much he wished he could feel guilty.


	2. Chapter 2

Even wasn’t quite sure when it had become so, but Isak Valtersen’s presence was near unavoidable.  It wasn’t that he, himself, was clingy. No. Rather, it was his magic: the kind that ran through him and into the surroundings like a tap that had rusted in such a way there was no hope of ever turning it off, the kind that hummed and sang and burned but also warmed and comforted and entranced, the kind that made it so clear Isak wasn’t quite alike to any of the other students that roamed the ancient halls of Hogwarts.

   The one reprieve he got from the suffocation that was so mellow and honey-like he was more than willing to let himself drown in it, was the Ravenclaw common room.  It was so far away from the Slytherin common room - the dark dungeons where he couldn’t imagine a being so blindingly bright ever residing - so he was free from that trap of magic he hoped he would build an immunity to.  But being away from his magic and being away from Isak were different things. Even was almost glad. If he still thought of Isak when there was no potent magic making him do so, he liked to think that that made the infatuation more than that.  He liked to think it meant something.

 

Even had a good family and a nice home but it was so muggle, so much something he was not, that it was as if the vaulted ceilings and rich blues of the Ravenclaw common room would embrace him every time he answered one of the many riddles that opened the little pocket of home he didn’t think anyone or anything could ever rob him of.  He liked that he could see books piled or just scattered haphazardly on most every surface, some claimed, some sitting ready to be picked up by a new owner in some sort of scheme that had been going on in the house much longer than he had been a part of it. He liked that the blue and bronze felt so relaxed, especially when compared to the bright, hot boldness of the Gryffindor red and gold, or the playful contrast of the Hufflepuff black and yellow.  He liked that he’d be hard-pressed to locate a surface without an ink-stain that could have easily been spelled away but had been left in laziness or fatigue and had been forgotten until it become merely a part of the room’s character.

 

He liked that it gave him a space to be free of his Isak Valtersen obsession.

 

It was difficult, he realised quickly, falling for a veela.  It was hardly as though some Tom, Dick, or Harry had written a guide on how to differentiate between real feelings and those conjured by a mystical being.

   It wasn’t like Even struggled with the idea he might like a boy - he’d just kind of accepted he liked who he liked for whatever reason he liked them and that was that - but he did struggle with the idea of upending his life for one.

 

But struggling didn’t mean he wouldn’t do it.

 

A big part of his dilemma, Even realised, was that he didn’t know how to separate Isak from the veela.  He had to find out, and to do that, he had to figure out who Isak Valtersen was. If anyone were to ask, he would insist that, no, he was not just formulating excuses to wallow in the brilliance radiated by a veela.

  
  


Finding Isak was never difficult. 

   He always just seemed to appear (Even distantly wondered if it was because he inadvertently followed his distinctive trace to where the hum was strongest) and it was rather brilliant.  He could be in the oddest of places, and still Even would find him.

   He happened to be by the lake on that particular day, sitting to its side and watching the water, dark and deep but clean and as comforting to some as it was foreboding to others, rolling dying daisies between his fingers.  His knees were tucked up to his chest, emerald-accented robes pooling around him like his own little lake, bar the giant squid, arms crossed atop them, chin perched on forearms. It was a pretty picture and Even had to fight a strong urge to draw it.

   Instead, he quickly and discreetly (he hoped) snapped a picture using the smartphone his mother had insisted he bring with him that the school attempted to accommodate for as well as it possibly could with the unavoidable magical interference, and approached Isak with stealthy steps.

 

He sat on the damp ground and pulled the fabric a little closer around himself.

“Halla,” He said gently.

“Halla,” Isak’s tone was soft even if his face had taken on a distinct impression of surprise “Wasn’t expecting company,” much less yours, he wanted to add.  He didn’t. He couldn’t allow himself to.

“Would you like some?” Even began to doubt himself “I can leave if you’d like?”

Isak gave a giggle, less an indicator of humour and more a conversational placeholder but certainly a sound Even would be very disappointed to not hear again.  “No,” he said once “No,” he repeated, firmer the second time “No,” again, only this time so soft it was barely even a word “Your company is certainly welcome,”

   He rolled the daisy between his fingers again and mumbled something Even could barely hear even vaguely that sounded neither Norwegian nor English and a tiny sliver of gold wound its way up the daisy.  Every tiny millimetre it passed grew more vibrant until it was like the little flower was in full bloom again and twice the size Even could ever remember any daisy being.

“Wandless magic?” Even whistled “Impressive,”

There was another giggle, this one humorous “Comes with the territory,”

“Of being a veela?” Even guessed, though he hadn’t known that fact.  Isak nodded, moved the daisy from one hand to the other, looked at it as though studying it for a moment, like he was considering, before crossing his legs and leaning forwards so quickly Even wasn’t sure what had actually happened.

 

The next thing he knew there was a daisy perched behind his ear and Isak was bright pink.

 

Even cast his gaze at the ground, embarrassed and touched and all these things he didn’t think anyone had invented the words to describe yet, but when he looked up he saw Isak’s retreating back.

“Wha-?” It wasn’t really a question, wasn’t really anything.  He touched the daisy softly but didn’t move it.

 

None of his friends were in the common room when he got there, so he quickly made his way to the dorm, plucking the flower from his hair as he climbed the few stairs that separated the common space and the entrance to the sleeping  quarters. Mikael was laying in an otherwise empty room, wearing pyjamas already even though it wasn’t even quite evening and they hadn’t had dinner yet, book held open in front of him in a way Even would hesitate to declare either comfortable or practical.  He carefully slotted the daisy slightly into a frame so it would stand beside a picture of his family, of his mother with her hand on his head, ruffling his hair, his dad next to her, him facing the camera with a toothy grin and chubby eight-year-old cheeks.

   He would let the daisy stay until it wilted and become sad rather than sweet.  It was a fleeting moment of natural, delicate beauty that he hoped would not come to represent something (or someone) else.

   Mikael cast him a passing glance, shook his head, and ignored whatever was happening, perfectly adjusted to the quirks of his friends and their frankly nonsensical behaviours.  He would hardly declare himself to be any different.

“Do you know anything about Veelas?” Even asked, hoping he didn’t come off as obsessive.

“I guess.” A shrug “This about Valtersen?” There was no space assigned to accommodating a response “They’re powerful, found all over Europe, a bit elusive.  They’re close enough to human that we can’t exactly study them like we can most magic creatures, gorgeous - obviously,” Even didn’t quite feel that was a reference to Isak as much as it was a reference to every female veela that walked the Earth in a state of perpetual beauty.

   Even thought he was done.  He wasn’t.

“But they aren’t unassuming,” That took Even aback a little “I don’t know how different Valtersen is from a regular wizard, but veelas are powerful - they can do complex and demanding wandless magic with their own unique system of spells that aren’t like the ones we use.  If Valtersen has access to both of those realms of magic he’s quite the force to be reckoned with,” Even tried to reconcile the image of Isak, perfect but also, in so many ways, just a teenager, the same as them, with the image he had of a ‘force to be reckoned with’. Somewhere in his mind, Isak began to meld with Voldemort and Grindelwald and Dumbledore and the horrifying visual made him shut that door as quickly as he had opened it, “Be careful with veelas,”

 

That warning was it; Mikael decided to stop speaking and suddenly, even if he couldn’t actually feel it, Even felt like there was no such thing as an absence of Isak’s magic.  Maybe it was doubt that was choking him, but it felt too much like burning.

   There was a brisk knock on the door and there Sonja was, smiling and pretty and nice, but knowing that was all he had to say about her made the constrictions tighter.  He followed her to the great hall, to the house table and their friends and the great spread of food that looked less appealing to him in that moment than he could ever remember it being.  He was close enough to Isak to see him and feel every wave of the mysterious veela power that his heartbeat pushed out. But Isak wasn’t looking, he was looking away like it was deliberate.  Maybe it was the going to lengths to avoid meeting his eyes, or maybe it was the bolting earlier, but, for the first time, Even’s concerns shifted.

   Now the problem was not Sonja or the dubious origins of his feelings, but rather whether or not they were returned.  He’d like to argue that the blushing and the giggling and  _ the daisy  _ were all good signals, but he didn’t know Isak or veelas or how to handle anything that wasn’t as simple and plain as what he had with Sonja.

 

He didn’t speak to Isak for a week.  It wasn’t his choice. Isak just refused to meet his eyes and Even, even drenched in the compulsion Isak exuded, didn’t feel right invading his space if he was so clearly, yet so wordlessly, indicating his desire for it.

   But then Even spotted gold and the gold stared back and he felt warmth run through him and decided to consider it a sign that he could talk to Isak again.  He went looking almost immediately after his final lesson for the day ended.

 

He wandered the grounds in a sort of drizzly, miserable rain that made the whole world grey and desaturated.  He knew that Isak was near but he couldn’t see him and couldn’t understand why until he saw the nearby greenhouse and it clicked.

   He walked in and Isak looked up from petting a sentient plant’s burgundy-speckled flowers and greeted him with a sort of hesitant smile that made Even’s heart flutter and, in the small space that stood for the subject he could definitely claim to be absolutely terrible at, he could feel the beginnings of a differentiation between the veela and the boy.

   The plant nudged Isak’s hand impatiently and he chuckled and began to pet it again, scratching absentmindedly at his nose with the other hand and leaving a little track of dirt from beneath his fingernails there.  Even took strides that seemed more confident than he was actually feeling towards the veela who was beginning to humanise himself and, before he had the chance to flush crimson or second guess himself, reached out a hand to gently brush the dirt away.

 

And Isak didn’t run.

 

They exchanged the usual greeting and Even examined the space.

“Herbology, huh?”

“Herbology and magical creatures,” Isak shrugged as he moved on from the plant he was stroking to spray the large, intimidating one next to it with some sort of red-brown liquid “It’s kind of like how my best subject in muggle school was biology,”

“You went to muggle school?” Even asked, a little taken aback.

“Even though I’m only half human - assuming we’re regarding wizards as being fully human, I’ve never quite managed to find someone willing to definitively clarify that one for me - I grew up in the muggle world.  In fact, would you believe I didn’t know there was a world aside from the muggle one?”

“Elias did mention you didn’t know what a veela was when they first met you,”

Isak tightened his lips into a line and shook his head “Raised by muggles who know no better than pre-wizard school me,”   
“ _ I _ was raised by muggles,” Even pointed at himself as to emphasise the point “But how were  _ you _ ?”

“Oh, well that’s the mystery Mr. Nӕsheim,”

“Does it have to be a mystery?  You could, like, tell me and not be a cryptic dick about it,”

“And spoil my fun?  Dream on Nӕsheim,”

“You want me to dream of you, Valtersen?  That’s an odd request,” Even left Isak no space to speak, only gave him a squinty grin and backed out of the greenhouse.  He felt something settle on his shoulders and looked down to see a dainty daisy chain sitting there. He cast a glance back at Isak to see him suppressing a grin, eyes glowing with mirth or magic or both.

 

When Even got to the dorm he draped the daisy chain on his four poster and didn’t care who saw him doing it.  He almost didn’t notice that the first daisy was still very much alive on his bedside table.


	3. Chapter 3

Isak became Even’s friend and, even when his very presence stopped knocking the air out of Even’s lungs and his presence stopped feeling completely alien, Even would still feel a certain way when he looked at him.  Even when he started to see boy more than veela, or rather he saw Isak who was miraculously both, the butterflies persisted and Even felt like a month was a long enough time to determine whether their source was human or magical.  It had been more than a month, almost two, when he managed to admit it to himself and someone else who he felt he really truly owed the admittance to.

   Halloween in the wizarding world was a big event, and it was meant to be a happy one, but he and Sonja were helping set up the great hall with all sorts of decorations - an odd mix of muggle and magical that bewildered him but also made him feel as though he was hovering in a solacing middle ground between his two homes.  But she kept trying to kiss his cheek and hold his hand and he knew he was lying and it meant he couldn’t enjoy what was usually one of his favourite times to be a muggle-born wizard. So he told her.

   He didn’t exactly tell her why it was that he was breaking up with her, or at least didn’t tell her the entire reason because if she could excuse it as veela magic or mania she would in a heartbeat and Even was sure to make sure neither of the two could be plausible.  He just told her that he didn’t really feel anything anymore (he wondered if he ever truly had), that it wasn’t her fault, that she couldn’t fix it and that was okay and they could be friends if she wanted.

 

It seemed she didn’t.

 

He’d like to say she drifted away from his group of friends, but with the rapid and streamlined path she took to the girls who always laughed a little too loud and spoke a little too much like they needed you to know they were there or else they might disappear, it was more like she had swam.   He noticed that those girls seemed to have a topic of conversation they would always refer back to if ever a thin veil of silence threatened to settle over them. Like much of the school, they talked and gossiped and blushed over Isak Valtersen (if Even were an honest man he would realise he was no better).

 

He was talking to Isak, wandering listlessly away from the library as the sun set early on the day before Halloween, when one of the girls from Sonja’s new group of friends approached Isak with a blush on her cheeks and her face contorted into an expression he supposed was intended to make her appear confident.  She bowed her head and thrust her arms out, making her short hair bob, offering Isak a heart-shaped box of chocolates which he quickly declined. He flushed in embarrassment as the girl - Even would, with some amount of certainty, say her name was Emma - deflated and dropped the offering to her side, walking away and sighing as if with the express purpose of making Isak feel guilty.

   He let out a sigh of his own and sunk down against the wall to his side as soon as Emma was out of sight.  He pressed the heels of his hands into his head and didn’t even attempt to disguise his apparent frustration.  Even sat down gently beside him.

“Does that happen a lot?” Isak’s silence was answer enough “It can’t be that bad?  Right? Having girls like you?”

Isak made a noise that was almost reminiscent of a whinny and lifted his head from his hands.  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” It’s just,” he paused as if in deliberation and canvassed the empty vicinity they sat in with nervous eyes “Just-” Something seemed to be stuck and Isak took in a deep breath and looked at the floor again “I don’t think I’m interested,”

Even’s heart jumped but he needed a little bit of clarification.

“In the girls that ask you because of the veela?  Or in girls as a whole?”

“The latter,” Isak mumbled nervously into his sleeve.  Even could tell, At that moment, he was admitting something aloud for the first time, admitting it to both Even and himself.

“So how does the whole veela thing work?” Isak met Even’s eyes “Like, does it only work on the opposite sex or-?” Even secretly knew the answer to that one already.

“On anyone that likes guys and isn’t already in love,” He shrugged “Though I do kinda wish it didn’t work at all,” he shook his head gently and, once again, the graceful movement of his hair made it look as though some zephyr had caught it even though there was no wind to be found “Well, I’ve opened up” don’t make me regret it “Your turn,”

“I wasn’t aware we’d made a deal like that,”

“I was.  Now speak,” Isak shoved Even gently and the touch compelled him to do exactly that.

“I broke up with Sonja,”

“Oh, wow.  I guess that’s why she hasn’t been sitting with you for meals or hanging around with you outside of lessons?”

“Have you been watching me, Valtersen?  What a creeper!”

“Piss of, Nӕsheim,” Another shove, another moment where the bright skin of Isak’s hand touched the skin of his arm that his t-shirt revealed, and he was compelled to talk more.

“I broke up with Sonja, so I’m not in love, and I like girls,” Some would say Isak’s eyes found the ground, perhaps a little dejected.  Even would tell them not to kid themselves, Isak Valtersen was beyond having feelings for him but the vehemence being radiated by Isak that Even could feel growing even though he was unsure whether that was the fault of the source or his own sensitivity to it was making Even braver than he felt logic should be allowing.

 

“I like girls, but I don’t  _ only  _ like girls,”

 

Even’s heart was racing a mile a minute and Isak was as scarlet as Even and that only made the blinding smile on his face all the more dazzling.  Even was glad he was sitting down because suddenly he was either smitten in a way no person had ever been smitten before or there was a sudden rush of overwhelming enchantment that rushed through Isak like someone had suddenly turned the tap inside him up to maximum.  He wasn’t quite sure what was happening, but his brain was nebulous and he knew he was moving closer to Isak in some way or another.

   And then Filch appeared.

“It’s lights out - scurry,”

And they did and from the moment Even arrived back at the dorm he regretted it.

   He picked up the daisies and, not only were they not dead or even wilting, they were glowing, a gentle, pulsing golden light in what was an otherwise dark room.

 

At holidays and other special events, the seating in the great hall grew lax.  Tables were still predominantly full of the people who regularly sat at them but there were many more instances of different colours dotted about at random intervals, welcomed to every table without question.  Isak was talking with Sana, eating gratefully and trying to giggle without choking, deliberately ignoring the eyes that, after so many weeks, still drifted to him and lingered from longer than was acceptable.

   Even could hear their Norwegian conversation as he drew closer with Elias and all of his other friends and it felt special that he could understand them when so many couldn’t, like he was being allowed into a special little pocket that so few others were welcomed into.  He sat kind of heavily at Isak’s side, long limbs going absolutely everywhere. His elbow gently touched Isak’s side, not an odd amount of contact, nor a telltale one, but it was the facial expressions that seemed to give it away. Isak took a moment to suppress a goofy grin and EVen was certain he looked, at that moment, to rather stupid because he wasn’t quite sure what his face was doing but he knew it was doing something and part of that something involved glazing over.

   Most of Even’s friends didn’t see it, but Sana and Elias certainly caught it and responded with a synchronised eyebrow raise that sat on their faces in the exact same way.  Funnily enough, it was the only indication, aside from the surname and birthday, that the two very different people were twins.

“Oh,” Once again, they were in perfect synch that made Even blush a bit; he was getting rather fed up with that, it was happening an awful lot.

“That makes sense,” Sana nodded, face serious, like she really meant the words she was saying.

“Am I that obvious?” Isak asked in Norwegian, looking rather nervous.

“I’m smart,” Sana told him “And, trust me, no straight guy turns all those pretty girls down,”

“Wow.  Glad you knew before I did,”

“You were in denial,” Elias told him, resting his hand briefly on Isak’s shoulder “Sana had no reason to be,”

“I don’t know how to feel about that,” Isak mumbled as the other Norwegians appeared and joined them and the Slytherin table became crowded with people who were not of the serpent’s house.

“Hei,” greeted the boy with the wild eyebrows, the boy with the face that made it clear he was almost always about to say something stupid, the boy who looked like he always knew what was happening, the girl holding Eyebrows’ hand, the blonde girl who Even, after a conversation, had to call brilliant, the girl with the incredible fashion sense, and their various other friends.  Somehow a small group of foreigners had quickly managed to more than double Even’s social circle.

 

Even wasn’t exactly sure where he stood with Isak, but he was fairly certain it was a good place.  It was a good place that he could make better with a few choice words. He was hoping to say those words to Isak when they got the chance to be free from the restraints of the castle on the termly Hogsmeade trip.

“Are you going?” He asked Isak, mentally crossing fingers.

“I can’t,” he shook his head “Sorry,”

“Why not?” They were sat besides the lake, the daisies on their very last legs, Isak resurrecting a perfect circle of little white flowers around them.

“Parental permission,” he seemed to want to leave it there.

“Your parents wouldn’t sign?  Why the Hell not?”

“do we have to have this conversation?”

“We do,”

Even had noticed that, whenever he was upset, Isak shrunk in upon himself and seemed to lose the brightness that tended to make him so beautiful.  He was doing that now, wilting like the flowers around him.

“Do we really?”

“Isak,” Even looked at him and, even though their standing was, in his mind, unclear, hesitantly picked up Isak’s hands in his own.  He ran his thumbs across the backs of Isak’s hands, tracing the bumps of his knuckles and feeling the impeccable softness of his skin beneath his own “why won’t they let you go to Hogsmeade?”

“She,” Isak corrected “she won’t let me go to Hogsmeade.  My dad would have had to stick around to have a say in that,”

“Oh,” Even breathed, glad to be getting somewhere, having an in depth conversation, even if it wasn’t a pleasant one, because it meant he got to see another instance where there was more boy than veela “So your mum won’t let you go?  The Veela?”

“Nope, don’t know her - don’t think she was too happy to be having a boy.  My unassuming parents adopted me without knowing anything about the whole ‘half human at most’ thing.  Mum wasn’t happy - a religious woman finding out about something which so decisively contradicts her belief?  She doesn’t like it - I leave the house for school before she can wake up and stop me and then I go home and listen to her patronise me,” He pulled out a phone that was very much similar to Even’s, unlocked it with one hand and passed it over, making Even let go of his slender hands.

   At Isak’s insistence, Even flicked through the texts Isak’s mother had sent him, seeing only one response from Isak, on the 30th of October - the day that had been so brilliant for him - that was merely the word “Sorry”.  Every text from Isak’s mother was a bible verse, each one condemning sinners of some nature, and every one made his heart sink a little more.

“I’m so sorry,” Even said the words because he felt like he should, not because he knew what he was apologising for, not because he really had anything to apologise for.

“You shouldn’t be,”

 

Isak looked so close to crying, an action Even had never felt him capable of doing, that it felt only right to him that the correct response was to hug him.  It wasn’t anything romantic, it was friendly and warm and comforting. A little melancholy laugh bubbled out of Isak’s throat as he felt the warmth of Even’s long, gangly arms and the gentle beating of his heart, and his breath on Isak’s hair, ruffling flaxen strands.

“Thank you,” Isak sat up, pulling his head away from Even’s chest “But I’m okay, really.  She just - she just isn’t,”

They sat in a sort of dreary silence for a moment, Even watching the once pristine white of the daisy petals Isak had spelled back to life slowly going slate, then charcoal, then completely pitch black.

“How do you do that?” He asked and watched as, for a brief moment, Isak grew just a little lighter, glad for a reprieve from a sore subject.

“I’m not really doing anything, a little bit of veela magic brings the plants back to life and then they just sort of respond,”

“How do you learn veela magic if you weren’t raised by a veela?”

“It’s in the blood.  It starts off a little like accidental magic in wizard children - as a side note, it’s very fun to watch what to realms of magic do when they’re put together in that scenario - and then I read up on it, found books on the topic and learnt it as best I could teach myself.  I’ve met a veela or two who has helped me find my way with it a little better,”

“So you can do, like, normal magic too, then?”

“Of course,” Isak smiled and drew a wand from a well-concealed pocket “I feel like the wizard schooling would be a bit of a waste if I couldn’t do the spells,” He twirled the wand through his fingers, long and thin, twisted and old-looking, made of a pink-toned cherry wood “Though the core in this thing is veela hair,”

“I wasn’t aware they made veela wands,”

“You also weren’t aware of the wandless magic,” Isak reminded him with a soft smile “I don’t think your wandmaker - I can’t think of his name - makes them; they’re temperamental at best and I’m pretty sure most of their buyers are of veela descent,”

Even hummed and felt the urge to wind his fingers into Isak’s hair.

 

More silence.

 

“You know what?” Even didn’t expect an answer “What if we both stay here when they go to Hogsmeade?”

“You don’t have to give up your-”

“No, no.  Please, I want to stay with you.  I’ll give Mikael or someone some money to bring us back some stuff from Honeydukes, everyone else will go, and we can have the school pretty much to ourselves - save the younger kids, but let’s not think about that,”

“Are you sure?” For someone with so much undoubtable, inarguable, otherworldly beauty, Isak had very little confidence or self-esteem.  It was intriguing, confounding - Even ran through many similar words before settling on one he felt was much more fitting: sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't come to expect updates as regularly as these first three - I find it helps to get a decent amount of material out in bulk to help me really get into a story, and I'm on a break from school and these first few chapters have just been really easy to write. I'm not sure how long to extend this story for - I could literally have two years worth of content of them at Hogwarts together - so if anyone has any opinions on that, please share.


	4. Chapter 4

Isak and Even stood just barely beyond the open door, wrapped up temporarily in warm robes over their pyjamas, scarfs flung around necks and hats wonky on unbrushed, unstyled hair.  They stood and waved their friends away as lines upon lines of teenagers flocked from the school to Hogsmeade.

“Don’t forget to get us something from Honeydukes!” Even called to Mikael, hands cupped around his mouth.  Then, after a moment of consideration “Nothing gross! He’s a veela not a vampire: no blood pops!”

“You gave me your money - you’ll have whatever I decide to get!” Mikael called back.  Even could barely hear him across the distance.

Even turned to Isak.  “I may yet have made a mistake,”

   After a quiet minute or two that followed a little responsive giggle, they left the cold and walked back inside.

 

As they walked in, they shed the scarves and hats bundling up the fabric in one arm and leaving the other to swing.  Even was beginning to feel it would be up to him, at least for a while, to take any steps that would make them closer.  Isak seemed too nervous, too unsure, too opposed to what Even would assume a veela would be. So he let his hand swing at the same time as Isak’s, knuckles brushing as they passed.  Isak looked over and smiled with his face red - though it was unclear whether flushed from the cold of the outside or any warmth he may have felt. Either way, Isak didn’t flinch away and his smile seemed sure, so Even let their hands swing separately again before linking their fingers.

   Both of their hands were freezing and it wasn’t quite warm enough where they were to warm them up yet.  Even so, with Isak’s hand pressed against his, by all means just another source of biting cold, Even had never felt warmer.

   They headed town towards the Slytherin dorms and common room; Isak had stated that everyone from his dorm was going to Hogsmeade and none of the kids who were too young would bother them.  It was cold in the dungeons anyway, so Even doubted many young kids would choose to hang around when most had other places with more interesting things to do.

   True enough, the round common room was empty.  In all Even’s years at the school he had never seen it, and he quickly realised it was both very similar and very different from that of his own house.  The walls were much rougher than in Ravenclaw: made of rough stone bricks that protruded from the walls. The atmosphere was rather the same, though maybe a touch more sleepy, for the Ravenclaw common room seemed to always be buzzing with life.  There was no noise of turning pages or scratching of quill on parchment. There was no buzz or giggling, no lively conversation, sighs of contentment or frustration. The room was asleep, silent aside from them, as though they were existing in solitary.  It was a relaxed day and the silence of the room felt appropriate.

 

“So…” Even took off the heavy robe and cast it across the back of the chair he gratefully sank down into, flinging his limbs haphazardly wherever they so-happened to fall.  Isak threw his unceremoniously into a heap on the floor and settled himself in a ball beside it, back pressed flush against the lower part of an old sofa. “Anything you particularly want to do?”

“Chess?” Isak suggested “Or we can head outside and play some football?”

“You’re setting me up to lose.  How about I introduce you to quidditch after I inevitably lose at chess?  Or a game of snap, maybe? Oh! And I have a part of the castle I’d like to show you - it was rebuilt after the war but most people don’t seem to realise that that’s the case,”

“We’ve got a while and I’ve already beaten you at football, so that’s fine by me,”

“We can’t quite play proper Quidditch, but you would never win,”

“Maybe I just don’t want to hurt your feelings, bruise your ego,”

“Oh Valtersen, you little shit!  It’s on!”

“You seem confident, Næsheim,”

“Oh, I am,”

 

The competition never did seem to build aside from in brief moments of taunting, instead they fell apart into fits of giggles and teasing and jokes.  They played chess and Isak won, then they hovered above the ground on brooms, still dressed in pyjamas, just passing and batting an old, mud-caked football that they had found sitting dejected on the grounds around, as if it were a quaffle or bludger.  There was no competition to it, just well-tempered fun, laughs so boisterous they almost knocked them from their brooms and faces crimson from the rush of wind passing by them.

   Then they wandered inside, ankles of pyjama trousers damp from the water that had settled on the grass they had walked through.  It was much warmer inside than out and, as they headed upstairs through warmth, they felt the tingling buzz of warming up to quickly, like bees beneath skin.  The stairs moved and Even hopped nimbly from one set to another, leading an equally nimble Isak deep into the bowels of the castle, into places where he had never before been.

“I’ve not really explored the castle,” Isak admitted “I found the kitchens and the lake and then kind of decided that was fine,”   
“You’re missing out.  There’s too much of the castle and too much inconsistency to really explore all of it but that’s almost the best thing about it,”

“The school at home is small and new - that’s why we’re here - so there isn’t much to it.  You have classrooms and dorms and common rooms, and then the a few pieces of magical oddity here and there,”

“Get ready to be amazed,”

“Haven’t we already walked here?” Isak asked, watching the paintings on the floor as they watched him back.

“Yep!” Even responded matter-of-factly.

“Why?”

Even just tapped his nose in response and spun on his heel before walking back exactly where they had just come.  Then the wall fazed and fizzled and a door appeared.

   It looked, by all means, insignificant.  It was made of worn wood, like it was simply a broom cupboard, but Even appeared pretty pleased with it.  “This,” he announced as he approached it and rested a large hand on the handle “Is,” he pushed it slightly “The Room of Requirement!”

   The door opened slowly, creaking on its hinges and seeming more and more like an aged broom cupboard before, suddenly, it revealed what was inside.

 

It certainly wasn’t a broom cupboard.

 

It didn’t really even look like a room.  Maybe if you looked far enough into the distance you might spot the bounds that confined the seemingly expansive space, but it looked to be outdoors.  There was dew-laden grass lining the floor, a glow like winter sunlight that illuminated everything as though what was really mid-afternoon was early-morning.  Snow capped mountains stretched up high, making it unclear as to when they stopped and became simply an illusion created by magic ceilings.

“Wow,” Isak breathed, Sitting beside the stream of running water that crossed just metres away from the entrance.  He dipped a hand in and found it cold, so much so it hurt, and trailed his hand through the pebbles and sediment at the bottom.

“Yeah,” Even agreed, keeping his voice hushed for no better reason than it just felt like the right thing to do “I haven’t been to Norway in a while,”

“I miss it,”

   Isak peeled his socks off and balled them up, rolling up his already damp trousers and putting his feet in the water.  He suppressed a wince yet still enjoyed it in an odd way he didn’t think he’d have the words to explain if asked. Even joined him, making a similar face for a moment or two.

“This isn’t like Oslo but the school is in the mountains, and there is a little cabin that we go to - it’s Eva’s - up in the mountains.  It was cramped and sometimes I question my friendships but I always did like it better than the city. Fewer people means less being ogled at because even muggles notice that you’re a bit-” Isak didn’t know quite how to finish the sentence but, still, Even knew what it was he was trying to say.  At some point their conversation had slipped into Norwegian but it was comfortable for both of them and it seemed appropriate for the environment.

“We go back to Norway whenever we can - usually around Christmas.  My parents are from Oslo as well, but my grandparents moved to the mountains so we go there a lot.  This is my memory of Norway,”

“It’s beautiful,”

 

Isak’s voice was breathy and soft, admiring and gentle.  His lips moved around the words, edges quirking upwards slightly, parting gently.  The delicate light making his skin look less white and more gold, like he truly was a statue.  The landscape seemed perfectly fit for a veela and Isak seemed perfectly at home in it; he had lost the tenseness that he had never previously seemed entirely capable of shrugging off of himself.  He was relaxed and, for the first time, Even wasn’t trying to split the labels of veela and boy in his mind. He let them become one and it was almost as if isak valtersen as a being was beginning to make some semblance of sense.

   Even wanted to say something stupid.  Or, more so, was overcome with an urge to do so.   _ You’re beautiful.  _  Simple words.  He could say them.  They’d been flirting, probably implying it was more than  _ just _ flirting, so Isak wouldn’t mind.  Besides, it was undeniable fact - the boy who shared half his DNA with the beautiful veelas was, in all ways, beautiful.  Still, Even wasn’t quite sure that that was exactly what he would mean by beautiful - beauty had less to do with being a veela than being Isak.

   So he didn’t say anything stupid, Even bit his tongue.  And he did something potentially stupid instead.

 

His fingertips found themselves brushing gently against the fine strands of Isak’s hair, tucking them behind his ears and feeling exactly how soft the flaxen was.  Isak’s skin grew warm beneath his hands but he stayed still, welcoming Even’s touch without any sort of hesitation.

   He brought his face closer to Isak’s slowly, giving him any time he might want or need to decide to move away.  He didn’t. His eyes grew wide before fluttering closed, heavy, dark eyelashes a stark contrast to his alabaster skin.

   Again, the word  _ beautiful  _ popped into Even’s head.

   Even shut his eyes and let the surroundings fade, replaced by the show of colours that danced on his eyelids.  His heart raced as he anticipated a moment of contact.

 

And then there it was.

 

Even could feel Isak’s lips against his: soft, smooth.  They moved together, pushing as well as taking what was given to them.  It was a good kiss, the best Even could remember, and he was glad he did it.  Especially when Isak leaned more into it, taking control as he had seemed to avoid doing in most any other matter.

   They broke when they needed air, cheeks flushed and lips bright and swollen but smiling widely.  Isak didn’t say anything. Neither did Even. They didn’t need to.

   They just sat there, feet still in the stream as they stared off, still flushed.  They were closer now than they had been before, Isak’s head resting on Even’s shoulder, Even’s gently leaning on top of his.  They were leaning back on their arms, overlapping each other, and Even could feel the soft tickle of Isak’s hair on his cheeks and neck.

 

It was perfect.

 

It was a moment of clarification.

 

It was meaningful.

 

It was better than any Hogsmeade visit could be.

 

Eventually, Even broke the silence, not sure if he wanted to but feeling a sense of necessity.

“So…” It felt difficult to speak because he wasn’t quite sure if he could remember how any language worked “What are we?”

“We can be whatever you want,”

“I get to choose?”

“Unless you don’t want to be anything,” and it was like all the confidence had dissipated and Even was eager to rebuild it.

“I want to be your boyfriend,”

Isak smiled and his lips briefly found Even’s again.

 

All was so much more than well.

**Author's Note:**

> As you can probably see, I've had to shuffle a few things to make this work - like making Elias and Sana twins so they can be in the same year - and I will continue to do so throughout this fic. I read a few fics with veela Isak, fell in love with the idea and needed to write one for myself, so here we are. This first chapter is pretty lighthearted but I suppose it would be worth mentioning this won't always be the tone because if I can't write angst into something then what's the point?


End file.
